


No Good Goodbyes

by Antheas_Blackberry



Series: The Grief Inside Your Bones [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-07 18:26:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3178562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antheas_Blackberry/pseuds/Antheas_Blackberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg's father passes away he is emotionally devastated.  He's also not having the best week of his life as he becomes under the weather at the same time.  Can Mycroft help keep Greg from falling apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Gregory sat in the study that he shared with Mycroft, mobile in hand. He sat staring into space, having just ended a call. He was completely and utterly numb.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to do right now. Besides the numbness, he was completely and utterly exhausted and probably coming down with a cold for that matter. He had been working himself to the bone lately, case after case coming across his desk at Scotland Yard. 

 

 

 

He had no idea how long he sat like that, practically unmoving, like a statue. He had never been more grateful for Mycroft and his ability to read him than he was when the politician arrived home. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft said, as he entered the study. He could see Gregory sitting, motionless on the sofa. Immediately alarmed, he approached his lover, and sat down beside him. “Gregory?” He asked, softly this time. He put a hand on his partner’s arm.

Gregory turned to face Mycroft, tears swimming in his eyes. Mycroft read all of this and deduced most of what happened; not the absolute details of course, but enough that he knew to pull Gregory into his arms and not let go.

It was some time before Mycroft felt he could pull away from his partner. He knew something terrible had happened, and he wanted Gregory to feel loved and cared for before he asked what happened. 

Gregory pulled back slightly with a wet, liquid sniffle. Mycroft pulled a crisp handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into his lover’s hand. Gregory accepted it with a grateful nod and wiped his nose.

He took a deep breath and began to speak. 

“I hadn’t heard from Caroline in a few days about dad, so I figured I would give her a call you know? And when I asked to talk to him, she said, she said that he wasn’t able to talk anymore.” Gregory paused, and took a deep breath, trying to keep in control and from breaking down.

“So, she said she’d put the phone down next to him so I could talk to him. She said he could still hear, you know. So I talked to him.” He paused to sniffle. “I don’t even know what I said, really. I told him I loved him, and missed him and stuff. I don’t even know.” Gregory swiped at his eyes with the handkerchief; it was getting harder for him to continue. Both his voice and hands were shaky, and the cloth fluttered to the floor.

Mycroft squeezed his hand. Gregory continued: “After I hung up with them, I went into the kitchen to get a drink and I left my phone in here. When I came back in I had a missed call from Caroline. So, I called her back.” 

Gregory was crying in earnest now. He gave a choked sob. “And she said he was gone. That he was waiting to hear from me before he died, and now he’s gone.” Gregory put his head in his hands and sobbed; shaking, heaving sobs.

Mycroft put an arm around his partner. “Oh Gregory. Dearest, I am so sorry for your loss.” Mycroft rubbed Gregory’s back as he cried, soft, gentle circles meant for comfort. He could hear the sobs starting to subside after a few long moments. 

As Gregory pulled himself together, Mycroft noticed a change in the breathing patterns of his lover. He reached down to where the cloth had fallen to the floor, picked it up, and placed it into the DI’s hands. “My dear, I believe you will be needing this shortly,” he said quietly.

Gregory glanced at him quickly before he buried his nose into the handkerchief. 

“Goodness! God bless you, Gregory,” Mycroft said, concerned. 

Gregory made some snuffling sounds from within the confines of the soft handkerchief. “Thank you, love. S’cuse be,” he said quietly and with an undercurrent of congestion. Mycroft wasn’t sure if it was from the bout of crying or the cold that Gregory had been fighting off for some time now (or both).

Gregory sat up fully, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He sniffled wetly and gave a weak smile toward his lover. “I think I need a drink, love,” he said, running his hand across his face.

Mycroft nodded and stood up to pour Gregory and himself a much-needed scotch. It was going to be a long few days, he thought. He hoped he would be able to be what Gregory needed.  
 


	2. Chapter 2

While Mycroft poured their drinks, Gregory attempted to blow his nose again. He had become rapidly congested, thanks to the bout of crying and was desperate to be able to breathe once again. He did his best, but ended up rendering the handkerchief useless. With a disgusted face, he shoved it into his trouser pocket.

Setting the drinks down, Mycroft gave his partner a careful once over. He was clearly distraught, and while Gregory himself may not be able to tell, Mycroft could see that he was definitely coming down with a cold. He sat back down on the sofa and prepared himself to ask some difficult questions.

“Gregory? Are there any arrangements you wish me to make?” Mycroft asked cautiously. This was an area that the two had not really discussed. Gregory tended to be distant on this front, especially after the death of his mother. While he knew Gregory’s father had been ill for some time, he was unaware that death was going to be so immediate. 

“I regret to say that because of the distance involved I would not be able to travel with you,” Mycroft added in a resigned tone.

Gregory picked up his drink and took a long sip. He put the glass down and ran a hand across his face. “What I’m about to tell you no one else knew other than myself and my dad, until I told my sister just now. When they moved to Australia, my dad made me promise that if and when anything happened to him that I wouldn’t travel there because he would be gone and it wouldn’t matter if I was there or not.” He sniffled wetly, rubbing his now ticklish nose.

Mycroft frowned at this. Granted, sentiment was not one of his strong suits, but even to him this seemed wrong. He was about to reply but paused, seeing that Gregory’s eyes had fluttered shut and his nostrils were flaring. The older man quickly cupped his hands around his nose.

“God bless you, my dear,” Mycroft said, concerned. 

Gregory removed the useless cloth from his pocket and swiped at his nose. “’Scuse be. Ad thag you, love,” Gregory said, frowning at the sound of his voice. He sniffled a harsh, liquid sniffle and cleared his throat. 

Mycroft turned to face his lover, putting a hand on his arm. “Are you sure that you do not want me to make any arrangements for you? It would be no trouble at all to arrange for a flight.” 

Gregory ran a hand across his face, wearily, and nodded. “Let me think about it love,” he said. “It’s all a bit much to take in right now.”

Mycroft nodded his understanding. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a hot bath? I will bring you up a cup of tea in a few minutes,” he said.

“Will you be joining me?” Gregory asked hopefully, despite sounding increasingly congested.

“I will, my dear. I need to make a call and prepare the tea. I will be up shortly.” Mycroft replied, getting to his feet.

Gregory also stood and kissed his lover on the cheek, before heading upstairs. As Mycroft walked into the kitchen, he could hear his partner sneeze as he headed toward their bedroom. Frowning, he called after Gregory. “God bless you!” Well, one issue at a time, he thought as he placed a call to Anthea.

While the kettle boiled, he was able to rework his schedule for the next two days, with Anthea’s assistance of course. He also had her look into flights to Australia for Gregory, should he choose to go. 

While he was concerned with Gregory’s budding cold, despite that he did think his lover should go to the funeral. He knew that Gregory harboured a terrible amount of guilt for not being there when his mother was ill, and of course now, more recently with his father. These thoughts caused a wave of sentiment to crash over him, something that he normally was able to hold off and withstand. He didn’t have time to make a phone call to his parents (who would only worry since he never called) but he did take a moment to text Sherlock as he prepared a cup of tea.

**If at all possible, brother mine, please do not bother Lestrade with any trivial matters on cases for the foreseeable future. –MH**

The response was almost immediate.

**What’s happened? Is he unwell? –SH**

**His father has passed away. –MH**

There was a few minutes delay in response.

((Meanwhile, at 221B . . . ))

Sherlock had been playing his violin when the text message came in. Annoyed at his brother for meddling, he replied quickly. However, when the next message arrived he paused, uncharacteristically unsure of himself. He walked into the kitchen where John was making them both some tea. 

John looked up with a smile, but his expression changed when he saw the look on Sherlock’s face. “What’s wrong?” He asked, concerned.

Sherlock passed over his mobile and allowed John to read the last few texts. Frowning, John passed the mobile back. He sighed. “Greg told me his dad was sick; asked me some questions about chemo and radiation a while back. I didn’t realise it was this serious.” He paused a moment and thought. “Just tell Mycroft to tell Greg that you’re sorry; we’re both sorry. There isn’t anything you can do right now,” he said, in answer to the unasked question.

Sherlock nodded and composed a text.

**Please pass along condolences from both John and I. –SH**

Immediately after, he sent a second one, knowing Mycroft would understand the brief moment of sentiment.

**I am sorry, Mycroft. –SH**

John passed Sherlock his tea. Both men were quiet, lost in their thoughts. 

 

 

Mycroft allowed a ghost of a smile to cross his lips upon reading Sherlock’s text. Sentiment had never been their strong suit, but he understood Sherlock’s meaning. 

Carrying Gregory’s tea, he headed upstairs. He found Gregory soaking in the bath. He saw dried tear tracks on the face of his lover, evident of recent crying. Mycroft’s heart went out to him and all the words he couldn’t say, all the feelings he had went into the kiss he gave him. 

Gregory responded fully to the kiss, reaching up to caress Mycroft’s cheek. “Please allow me to undress. I won’t be a moment,” Mycroft said.

He quickly returned to their bedroom and undressed, leaving his suit on the bed to attend to later. Grabbing a box of tissues from the counter, he placed them closer to the tub. Mycroft then re-joined his partner, slipping behind him in the bath. 

Gregory turned enough so he could face Mycroft. He took his face in his hands and kissed him hard. Mycroft responded to the embrace, allowing Gregory to deal with his emotions however he deemed necessary. After the kiss, Gregory reclined back against his partner, allowing the heat of the water and the warmth of his partner to relax him. 

He became so relaxed that he was unprepared for the sneezes that seemingly snuck up on him, some moments later.

“God bless you, Gregory,” Mycroft said. He reached over the side of the tub and grabbed a handful of tissues, placing them into Gregory’s hands. 

“Thag you, love,” he replied, blowing his nose gently as possible. He was starting to feel rather unwell. Blowing his nose had the opposite effect and he rapidly gasped as his breath hitched. Mycroft braced him in the tub as he surrendered, burying his nose in the tissues.

“Goodness! God bless you again, my dearest heart!” Mycroft kissed the back of Gregory’s neck, trying to be as comforting as possible.

“Thag you, love,” Gregory said, sniffling. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of the bath, wrapping himself in a large towel. He plucked a handful of tissues from the box and blew his nose again, in an attempt to clear his sinuses. He had hoped he wasn’t getting sick, but it was clear that his body had other ideas. With another resigned sigh, he picked up his tea and headed into the bedroom.


	3. Chapter 3

It took Mycroft a few minutes to dry himself off and dress before joining him in the bedroom. He could hear several squelched, wet sneezes coming from his partner, and frowned. Before heading into the bedroom he retrieved cold medicine, painkillers as well as the tissues and brought them with him. 

He found Gregory sitting on the bed, seemingly staring off into space. Then, his eyes fluttered shut as he ducked his head into his elbow.

“God bless,” Mycroft said softly. He handed Gregory a handful of fresh tissues. He then put the pills and the tissues on the bedside table, and sat next to his lover.

Gregory nodded his thanks and gave his nose a forceful blow. He could not believe how little time it had taken him to feel considerably worse. He hated being sick, not just because of how terrible he ended up feeling, but because he always felt like he was putting Mycroft out; he always ended up taking care of him. It was unfair, and as the British government he clearly had better things to do than to take care of an ailing, ageing, and now orphaned police detective inspector. 

He sniffled wetly. He balled up the tissues and threw them in the bin next to the bed. He then reached for another handful so he could blow his nose again. His sinuses were clogged and aching; blowing his nose wasn’t doing much to alleviate the congestion. His throat was starting to hurt as well, and he reached for the mug of tea again and drained it.

Mycroft frowned. He wished there was something that he could do to alleviate his partner’s obvious discomfort and as well as his sadness. He reached over and squeezed Gregory’s hand. This elicited a smile from the ill man. 

Not knowing what else to do, Mycroft squeezed his hand again. “Allow me to get you a glass of water, Gregory. You really should take something before you are feeling any worse,” he said as he stood up. He returned with the water and a stack of handkerchiefs.

Gregory nodded before frantically reaching for the tissues again. He sneezed harshly into the tissues, and wondered for how long Mycroft had known he was feeling unwell.

“God bless you, my dear,” Mycroft said. He placed the water down next to the pills.

“Thag you, love,” he said. Once he finished blowing his nose, he took the pills, downing them with the water. “How long have you known?”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “A few days. You tend to have trouble sleeping as the congestion increases gradually,” he said.

Gregory gave a weak smile; he knew Mycroft couldn’t exactly “turn it off.” He sniffled and moved to get under the duvet. He really was starting to feel miserable. That combined with the stresses and emotional turmoil of the day had made him exhausted. 

Mycroft removed his dressing gown and joined his lover in bed, moving to hold him from behind. He wanted to do everything in his power to offer Gregory as much comfort as possible. “Is there anything else I can do for you, my dearest heart?” 

Gregory relaxed into Mycroft’s warmth. He wanted to tell him about his father, he wanted to tell him how miserable he was feeling. He wanted to cry. He knew if he started down any of these roads he wouldn’t get enough sleep, sleep that his body desperately needed right now. 

“Not right ahhhhh hehhhhh now, love,” he gasped out. Mycroft reached over for one of the handkerchiefs that he had brought in, and placed it into Gregory’s awaiting, outstretched hand.

“God bless. . . .“ Mycroft began, but was cut off as Gregory continued to sneeze, more unrestrained than the first pair; he was obviously too tired to care about how he sounded.

“Good heavens, Gregory. God bless you!” The British government sounded worried.

“Thag you, love,” Gregory said before blowing his nose. He made a disgusted face at the gurgling blows. Drained, he snuggled back into Mycroft’s warm embrace. He reached for his lover’s hand, squeezing it, and then kissed the palm. “I’b sure I will be fide in the morning,” he said drowsily. 

Mycroft returned the squeeze, and with his other hand, began to slowly card his fingers through Gregory’s hair. The older man had let it grow out a bit and Mycroft loved to do this; especially as he knew it helped relax his partner. “Good night, my dearest heart,” he whispered, as he listened to Gregory’s congested breathing slow down until he was deeply asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft wasn’t sure when he fell asleep; he must have been lulled off by Gregory’s breathing. He was surprised that he had fallen asleep so quickly himself; he had a lot on his mind right now and he wanted and needed to maintain a clear and level head for himself and for Gregory.

 

 

Gregory thrashing and calling out in his sleep awaked him some hours later. He sat up quickly, and took Gregory by the arm. “Gregory,” he said firmly. “Gregory, wake up.”

Gregory woke with a startled gasp; breathing heavily, sweat on his brow. “Mycroft,” he whispered hoarsely.

Mycroft switched on the bedside lamp, illuminating their bedroom. Reacting to the light, Gregory gasped and sneezed unrestrained, barely awake enough to think to turn his face away from Mycroft.

Now awake and completely embarrassed, Gregory fumbled for his handkerchief and blew his nose. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

Mycroft frowned. “God bless you, my dear,” he said, his tone worried. He reached out to brush Gregory’s damp fringe from his forehead, which also allowed him to check to see if he was fevered. (He wasn’t.)

“Thag you. I’b sorry I woke you, love,” Gregory said, sniffling. 

“It is no bother, Gregory.” Mycroft paused a moment, reaching over and taking Gregory’s hand. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked gently. This wasn’t the first time that his lover had been plagued with nightmares. Mycroft often hoped that he would talk about it, if only to alleviate the burden he must be carrying.

Gregory rubbed his nose with the hand that wasn’t being held. He thought for a moment, and finally nodded. Mycroft leaned over and turned off the light and Gregory repositioned himself so that he had his head on Mycroft’s shoulder and was being held protectively in Mycroft’s arms. He began to speak, stumbling over his words, his voice still rough with sleep.

“One of the first cases I ever had, that I ran myself, there was this kid, and I wasn’t in time. I couldn’t save him. I have these recurring dreams where I get so, so close to saving him. This time I got closer than I ever have before, but it wasn’t the kid. It was my da.” Gregory’s voice caught and he coughed to keep his voice from breaking.

“Oh, my dearest heart,” Mycroft said. He held Gregory tighter in lieu of not quite knowing what to say; not a situation that the British government found himself in frequently. He spent a moment intertwining their hands. 

Gregory was quiet for a few beats as he composed himself. He cleared his throat. “It’s not like I could save my da, I know that. None of this was exactly a surprise, you know? You don’t smoke two packs of cigarettes a day for decades and come out unscathed.” He sniffled again, and Mycroft could see him rubbing at his nose in the faint light that filtered through the curtains into the bedroom from the streetlights outside.

Mycroft reached for the tissues, plucked a few from the box, and pressed them into Gregory’s hand. Gregory was momentarily confused, until he gave a rapid and sharp intake of breath as he built up to a pair of harsh sneezes.

“God bless,” Mycroft said, quietly his mouth close to Gregory’s ear. He pressed a kiss to his lover’s temple.

“Thag you, Gregory said, sniffling and wiping his nose. He gave a resigned sigh. “I thought I had more time,” he said softly.

“We are always going to want just a little bit longer, Gregory,” Mycroft replied, yawning inaudibly. 

“I know,” Gregory whispered before falling back to sleep, safe and warm in the arms of his partner and lover.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Gregory was dreaming. He was somehow consciously aware he was dreaming as well; in that space between dreaming and waking. He rose from the depths of sleep and was immediately cognisant of two things; that it was far lighter than his normal waking time and that there were soft, muffled sounds coming from beside him.

Oh, he thought. He managed to find his voice, more hoarse than normal. “G’bless,” he croaked out quietly.

“Gregory? Thank you, my dear. My apologies for waking you,” Mycroft said quietly, dabbing at his long nose with a tissue.

Gregory sat up, yawning. He took an inventory as to how he was feeling. Head sore, stuffy and congested, sore throat, general malaise, he thought with a sigh. “You didn’t wake me,” he said sniffling. He rubbed a hand over his day old stubble. “I’b sorry about waking you lasd night, love.” 

Mycroft peered over at him and rolled his eyes. “Gregory, there is nothing for you to apologise for. Please do not think for a moment that you are a bother. Now, how are you feeling?” Mycroft asked, staring intently at his lover.

Gregory rubbed at his nose. “Preddy biserable, actually,” he said with a wet sniffle.

Mycroft frowned. He had hoped that Gregory would be feeling better this morning. He reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a handkerchief, which he handed to his partner. If he was reading the signs correctly, he would be needing it sooner than later. 

“Would you like some tea, my dearest?” Mycroft asked. 

Gregory nodded. “Thags, love,” he said. 

Mycroft stood and Gregory realised it must have been much later than he thought, as Mycroft was already fully dressed. He looked up at the British government in confusion. “Should’t you be at _ahhhhh hehhhhh_ work," he managed to get out before succumbing. 

“God bless you, Gregory.” Mycroft said, looking concerned.

“Thags.” Gregory sniffed at swiped at his nose in annoyance. 

“I was able to arrange my schedule so that I could remain here at home today,” Mycroft explained.

“You did’t have to do that, you know.”

“I wanted to, my dear.” Mycroft reached across the bed and squeezed Gregory’s hand. 

“Thag you,” Gregory replied, overcome with emotion. 

Mycroft squeezed his hand again. “I will return in a few minutes, dearest,” he stated, and headed out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Gregory blew his nose and pulled himself together. It wouldn’t do him any good to keep breaking down like this. With a sigh, he stood up and went off to the en-suite. 

He washed his face and regarded his appearance in the mirror. He looked as terrible as he felt. His hair was standing on end in places, his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, and he had dark circles around his eyes. His nose was tinged pink and he looked pale and haggard despite the stubble on his cheeks. 

The inspector felt sticky and uncomfortable, so he quickly removed his pajamas and stepped into the shower. He figured a quick wash couldn’t hurt.

The hot water felt heavenly on his body and he relaxed under the spray. After a few minutes, he could feel the steam and heat loosening the congestion in his sinuses. He sniffled, attempting to hold off the inevitable sneezes, but it did little to alleviate the tickle.

The loud, harsh sneezes echoed off the tile walls of the shower. Mycroft fretted as he came in with the tea. Placing it down, he walked the short distance to the en-suite, as Gregory was turning off the taps.

“My goodness, Gregory. God bless you!” He said, holding out a soft towel for his partner. 

Gregory sniffled. “Thag you, love.” He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to the sink where there was a box of tissues. Plucking a handful, he blew his nose again, clearing out some of the present congestion that had been loosened by the steam.

Clearing his throat, Gregory dried himself off as he headed back into the bedroom. He found his old, comfortable track pants and an Arsenal hoodie and got dressed. Mycroft’s lips may have twitched slightly as he watched his lover dress in his most comfortable clothing. He found it very endearing. 

Once Gregory was dressed, the two settled down with their tea. Mycroft also passed over two pills; cold medicine. They sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping. 

Mycroft was hesitant to bring the situation up, but he was dealing in an area he was rather unaccustomed to. Like his brother, he thrived on data, and he needed more. He was just unsure as to how to go about this; the Internet had given him mixed messages. Mycroft was well aware that he might need some assistance in this matter. As much as he was normally unwilling to accept help and assistance from others, other than Gregory, this situation concerned Gregory himself. He was not going to let his pride stand in the way of making sure he was doing everything possible to help his lover through this time. 

Once Mycroft was sure Gregory was settled with his cup of tea, he glanced at his mobile and feigned reading a text. Apologising profusely, he excused himself to deal with a sensitive matter. Gregory waved him off, understanding as ever, and settled back against the pillows with his tea and his thoughts. 

Mycroft headed down to his private study, and from there he placed a call. 

 

John Watson picked up his ringing mobile and sighed when he saw who was calling. Bracing himself, he answered it. 

 

“Good morning, Doctor Watson. I hope this isn’t an inconvenient time.”


	6. Chapter 6

John instinctively rolled his eyes. Inconvenience didn’t really matter when it came to the British government. “What can I do for you?” 

“This is a sensitive matter. I trust that you will keep this conversation between the two of us.” 

The subtext of excluding Sherlock was blatant and John wasn’t sure how he felt about it, until he heard the rest of Mycroft’s request.

“I trust you have been informed about Gregory’s father,” Mycroft continued.

“Yeah, Sherlock said. Is that what this is about?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Mycroft said, and paused a moment to gather his thoughts.

John rolled his eyes again; he really wished the Holmes brothers could just get to the bloody point some times.

“John, I find myself a bit out of my depth here. As you know both my parents are still among the living and while I have experienced loss, I have never experienced it on this level.” Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose; he was feeling the stirrings of a headache.

“Ah,” John said. This was going to require another cup of tea, he thought as he made his way into the kitchen, glad that Sherlock was still asleep for once. He filled the kettle and clicked it on.

“I know this sounds contrived, but the best thing you can do right now is just be there for him. You don’t need to do any more than that. Don’t pressure him to do anything or talk about his father, he will come around to that in his own time. Is he going to fly out for the funeral?” John asked.

“No, I do not believe so. There was an _arrangement_ ,” Mycroft said. He didn’t explain further. “It is probably for the best,” he added. “Gregory is a bit under the weather at the moment and I do not think travel would be the best for his health.” Mycroft left out the fact that he offered to pay for Gregory to fly out to Australia.

“Is he alright?” John frowned as he put a teabag into his mug and poured the boiling water over it.

“I think so, yes. It is just a cold, but he is not feeling his best right now.”

“Well, keep an eye on that. There’s been something pretty miserable going around. I’ve seen a few people knocked for six over it, so let me know if you need me to come ‘round and check him over.” John tossed the teabag into the bin and turned and opened the fridge, sighing when he saw the hands still hadn’t been returned to the morgue. 

“Something the matter?” Mycroft asked.

John laughed. “Your bloody brother hasn’t bothered to. . ., you know, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you focus on Greg, yeah?” John didn’t really know what to tell Mycroft. “Everyone grieves in their own way, Mycroft. Spend as much time with him as you can, just _be_ there, you know?” John blew on his tea and took a sip. Giving relationship advice to Mycroft Holmes wasn't really part of his medical training.

“Very well. Thank you, John.”

“No worries,” John said as the line went dead. He shook his head and went took another sip of his tea, lost in his own thoughts about his own parents.

 

Mycroft sat there for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He still was no closer to knowing what he should be doing. Of course he would be there for Gregory, but a nagging sense of worry and guilt felt that he should be doing something more. He supposed John knew what he was talking about, having more experience than he did, surely. Mycroft sighed and put his head in his hands, wishing that this came easy to him, like it did for Gregory. He really didn’t deserve him; Gregory was such a loving and caring person, and here he was hiding out in a separate room because he didn’t know what to _say_.

 

While Mycroft was having his personal existential crisis, Gregory was reading the texts that had come in while he was sleeping. There were only a few; from Sally, Anderson, and John, but he was touched that they had taken the time to reach out to him. He didn’t really know what to say in response, so he decided to leave it for the moment. He finished his tea and took the cold medicine that Mycroft had left for him and was left feeling aimless. Sniffling, he ran a hand through his damp hair and rose from bed. There was no sense in sitting around feeling sorry for himself. 

He took his teacup downstairs to the kitchen and put the kettle on for another cup. He then took the bread out of the larder and put 2 slices in to toast. He wasn’t terribly hungry, but he figured he might as well eat something.

He was halfway through his toast when Mycroft appeared in the kitchen. “I would have brought you something to eat, my dear,” he said, kissing Gregory on the cheek. 

Gregory shrugged. “It was just toast. I’m not an invalid,” he said sniffling wetly. He rubbed his nose in annoyance. 

“I was not suggesting that you are,” Mycroft said gently as he joined him at the table. “That being said, can I get you anything else?”

Gregory shook his head. “Nah, I wasn’t really hungry to begin wi – _ahhh hehhh_ with,” he struggled through the last word, his breath hitching. He grabbed a napkin off the table and sneezed harshly into it.

“God _bless_ you,” Mycroft said quietly, putting his hand on Gregory’s shoulder.

“Th _aa ahhh_ thanks,” he gasped out again before succumbing to another sneeze.

“God _bless_ you again.” Mycroft removed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Gregory. 

Gregory nodded his thanks and blew his nose. He was suddenly very tired, as if the enormity of the situation had finally hit him. He sighed as he ran a hand across his face.

Mycroft sat there watching as the different emotions flitted across his partner’s face. He felt helpless; there really _was_ nothing he could do right now. He squeezed Gregory’s shoulder.

Gregory stood and gave him a sad smile as he cleared his place at the table and walked out of the room, his head down in defeat.

Mycroft stared at the retreating figure until he was long gone.


	7. Chapter 7

Mycroft sat there for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only about ten minutes. He was unsure what to do at this point and settled on making tea. The ritual calmed him and soothed his rattled nerves. He felt awful for feeling so anxious over all of this; this was about Gregory not about him or his shortcomings. 

He made up a tray and carried it out to the study, hoping that was where Gregory had gone. He found his partner standing at the window looking out. Mycroft put the tray down and was about to leave, when a choked sob stopped him in his tracks.

Gregory was crying, his shoulders shaking from trying to keep a modicum of control. Mycroft went to him, putting his arm around his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how his presence would be taken, so he did nothing more. He was going to offer Gregory his handkerchief, and then remembered he had already given it to him. 

Gregory turned so that he was being fully embraced by Mycroft, put his arms around him and sobbed, deep wracking breaths that overtook him fully.

Mycroft walked them both over to the sofa, not breathing contact and making soothing sounds. He let Gregory cry and he rubbed his back soothingly.

Gregory suddenly shuddered beneath his arm and gasped out a hoarse sneeze.

Mycroft leaned forward and pulled the tissue box closer to them both. He removed a fair handful and pressed them into his partner’s hand. “God bless you,” Mycroft said quietly.

Gregory nodded and swiped half-heartedly at his leaking nose. 

Gregory trembled violently. The intense prickling returned, and drawing in a wheezy breath he quickly pulled away from his lover as another sneeze escaped. 

Tissues in hand, he barely cupped his hands around his nose before he gave into the violent outburst.

Sagging back against the couch, he blew his nose.

“God _bless_ you again, my dear.”

“Thadks,” Gregory said thickly. He turned to Mycroft. “Oh, love. I got your suit all damp.” He swiped at the damp spot on Mycroft’s lapel, blushing crimson.

“Please do not trouble yourself over it,” Mycroft said gently. He took Gregory’s hand in his and squeezed it. 

Mycroft’s own nose began to have a sympathetic twinge. Employing all the mental control he could devote, he gave it a quick rub and then began to pour the tea for them both, in hopes to distract himself from the frustrating appendage in question. However, the fragrant Earl Grey steam had other ideas. He turned his head and ducked it down toward his shoulder. 

“Dear me,” he gasped out in the wake of ticklish sneezes. “My apologies, I am not trying to steal your thunder.”

The unintentional self-depreciating remark caused Gregory to smile in spite of everything. “Don’t be silly. God bless you, by the way.” He paused to sniff back dampness, a liquid sniffle, and he dabbed at his nostrils. “It’s not like you can help it,” he added, squeezing Mycroft’s hand.

He took the mug of tea that Mycroft passed him and cradled it in his large hands, relishing its warmth. “I’m sorry about before. I’m just a bit of a mess right now.” He attempted to take a breath, but it was more like a whistling, snuffling sound through his congested nostrils. He dabbed at his nose with the same handful of damp tissues.

Mycroft noticed, and tutting, plucked him a fresh handful. “Here, dearest.”

He took a sip of tea, as he formulated his next words. “How are you feeling? Physically I mean.” Mycroft wanted to gauge how Gregory was feeling in order to make sure he was doing everything he possibly could; he needed to monitor his symptoms and ensure his lover got the best care possible. He knew Gregory would ignore symptoms until he was bordering on needing medical attention at the best of times, and these certainly weren’t the best of times.

Gregory shrugged. “It’s just a cold,” he said.

Unfortunately for Mycroft, his concern for his partner had to take a backseat for the moment. His mobile vibrated with a message from Anthea; his presence was required in the office.

“I am sorry, Gregory. I am needed at the office.” Mycroft took another sip of tea before standing. He placed a kiss on top of Gregory’s silver head. “Please try and rest,” he said.

Gregory reached out and took Mycroft’s hand. “S’alright, love. I’ll be fine,” he said. He kissed the soft ivory skin.

Mycroft smiled. “I will return as soon as I can. There is soup that can be heated up if you get hungry.” With another quick peck, Mycroft headed to his office to retrieve his briefcase and then quickly grabbing his coat and umbrella, headed out to the waiting car.


	8. Chapter 8

When Mycroft returned a few hours later, he did not find Gregory in the study, kitchen, or their bedroom. Frowning, he looked out the window to the back garden. Gregory was sitting out there, smoking. There was a half-drunk bottle of beer next to him. He looked as if he had been crying. Mycroft fretted and opened the door to the back deck.

Gregory was proud of the small deck he had put on last spring. They didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as he had hoped; he wished he could enclose it somehow so that Mycroft could sit out there with him and enjoy it in the spring and summer without worrying about the pollen count. 

Gregory took a long drag on the cigarette and blew smoke out with a sigh. Mycroft took a seat next to him, taking in his partner’s appearance, but didn’t comment on what he had deduced.

“Last one for good, dod’t worry,” Gregory said. He sounded even more congested than before and Mycroft wondered how much that was from the illness as opposed to the tears that had recently fallen.

Mycroft nodded and looked out into the garden; it was just barely spring and the alder trees were just starting to bud and the daffodils had filled the flowerbeds with their vibrant yellow hues. He ran his index finger under his nose briefly and wished he had thought to grab a new handkerchief. He had been caught unawares at the office as well. He really should know better, he thought to himself. 

Mycroft sniffed quietly. “I take it you spoke with your sister,” he said.

Gregory snorted. “If you can call it speaking, yeah.” He took a final drag on the cigarette and stubbed it out underneath the long wooden bench they were sitting on. He drained the last of his beer and then pushed the butt of the cigarette inside. He leaned back against the wood, sighed and rubbed his nose between his index finger and thumb, sniffling wetly.

“All the arrangements have been made and all. But all she can think about is how he was waiting for me to call before . . .” Gregory’s voice trailed off. He sniffed again and bit his lower lip. “And I can’t say anything to her, I can’t, not right now. But I’m the one; I’m the one who has to live with that for the rest of my life. That he waited for me to call, to hear my voice one last time,” he sobbed out, giving up all pretence of keeping himself together. He put his head in his hands and cried.

Mycroft put his arm around Gregory and held him close while he sobbed. He hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting Gregory’s sister, but from all he had learned about her, he knew she was a right bitch, and he wasn’t one to use words like that lightly, even to himself. She had no business upsetting Gregory like this; his lover was devastated and guilty and would carry this sorrow to his own grave.

Mycroft was brought out of his thoughts by Gregory’s loud, shuddering sneeze.

“God _bless_ you, my dear.”

Gregory sniffled wetly again and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. He groped about in the pocket of his track pants and pulled out the handkerchief that Mycroft had given him earlier and wiped his eyes and nose. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking away. 

“Please do not apologise. You are unwell,” Mycroft tutted as he rubbed Gregory’s back. “Did she say anything else?” He asked, hesitantly.

“Other than how I’m a disappointment for not flying out there, not really, no. She laid it on thick this time, about how the girls are getting older and everything.” Gregory shook his head in disbelief. “I thought I had more time, you know? I was gonna go out there, soon. I didn’t think it would be so quick, you know?” He worried his lip again, trying to keep from dissolving in flux of tears.

“You have my sympathies, Gregory, I hope you know that,” Mycroft said. He rubbed his nose again, hoping to hold out a bit longer before he would be forced inside. 

“Thanks, love,” the silver haired man said, swiping at his eyes again. 

“You’re quite welcome,” Mycroft said. The buzzing within his sinuses was starting to become rather bothersome. He sniffed quietly again in hopes of quelling the irritation. Unfortunately it had the opposite effect and Mycroft quickly turned away from Gregory, cupping his hands over his nose as he gave into the rapid fit.

“God _bless_ you!” Gregory frowned as he took in Mycroft’s appearance. “Oh Christ, love. I’m sorry, let’s go inside. I didn’t even think. I’m sorry,” he blathered out and led a damp eyed Mycroft back inside.

Mycroft sniffled back the congestion and wiped at his eyes with the cuff of his suit jacket. “Nonsense, Gregory. I was where I needed to be, and that was with you," he said as they made their way into the study. Mycroft made a beeline for the tissues and gathering a handful wiped his eyes and blew his inflamed nose.

“Still, I should’ve thought,” Gregory said. He gave a deep, wracking cough as he sat down.

“You have more important things on your mind right now, my dear,” Mycroft said. “That cough does not sound good, Gregory,” he added, frowning.

“M’fine,” Gregory mumbled.

“Mmmm. I am quite sure you are. However, I would rather you stay that way, so if you would indulge me just a bit,” he pleaded gently.

Not looking up, Gregory nodded. “M’sorry, love.” He reached out for Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft took Gregory’s hand in his and sat down next to him. “There is nothing for you to apologise for, my dear. You have had a terrible thing happen, and you are under the weather in addition. You are entitled to a bit of grumpiness.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought, and then continued.

“That being said, I know you are feeling worse than you are letting on. I would rather that cough did not get any worse, so please let me take care of you.” Mycroft squeezed his hand gently.

“I didn’t want to add to your worry,” Gregory said quietly. He looked terribly sad as he said it, Mycroft thought.

“Please do not ever think that, Gregory Lestrade,” Mycroft said, more furious with himself than anything. 

Gregory gave him a sad smile, and then nostrils flaring, turned his head away as he sneezed.

The intense tickling sensation didn’t stop there, and seconds later he was gasping into another harsh sneeze.

“God _bless_ you, my dear,” Mycroft offered, pressing tissues into Gregory’s hand. “I am going to fetch some cold medicine for you, and then see to tea,” he said, rising from his seat. 

Gregory, who was actually feeling rather wretched, just nodded.


	9. Chapter 9

Mycroft stood in the kitchen, arms outstretched and hands splayed flat on the marble countertop. His head hung down, defeated. He really needed to get some control over his emotions; he could feel his heart racing. It would do neither of them any good if he was worrying about worrying. He hated seeing Gregory so unwell and he had no idea if he was being reassuring or comforting or being what Gregory needed right now. A few years ago, he would have never been having such self-doubt, but Gregory had broken through his icy exterior and warmed his heart and soul. And now, he worried about his abilities to be in such a relationship, to love someone so much and not be able to help them. It was rather overwhelming. He took several slow, deep breaths in an attempt to reduce his anxiety

Sniffling, he raised a hand to rub at his irritated and itchy eyes. It also wouldn’t do for him to be suffering either; he made a mental reminder to fetch his allergy pills as soon as dinner was ready.

Mycroft filled the kettle for tea and then removed chicken soup from the fridge and heated it up on the stovetop. While the soup heated through, he sliced thick French bread and filled the teapot.

The prickling sensations within his sinuses built to a crescendo, and he tried futilely, to rub his nose into his shoulder. He hated sneezing in the kitchen; it was so unhygienic. Unfortunately, rubbing his nose made it worse and he nearly bent over double from the ferocity of the sneezes, quickly turning away from the countertop.

He paused on the precipice of another sneeze, his breath hitching teasingly.

“God _bless_ you,” came a hoarse voice from the doorway.

Blushing scarlet, Mycroft turned to look at Gregory, wrist pressed up against his nose. “Thank you,” he said. “Apologies.”

Gregory smiled. “You’re welcome. I figured it’d be easier if we ate in here.” 

“If you are sure you are up to it, Gregory.” Mycroft sniffled, his wrist still pressed to the underside of his damp, irritated nostrils. He was unsure if he was done sneezing; he could feel taunting tickle still present, lurking within his sinuses.

“I’m pretty sure I can handle sitting at the table,” Gregory said teasingly. “Oh, and here,” he added, handing over the allergy pill and fresh handkerchief. “I thought you could use this. It looks like I was right.”

Mycroft smiled gratefully, still flushing and embarrassed, accepting the items. “Thank you, my dear.” He removed his wrist from his nose and quickly brought the handkerchief up to his twitching nostrils and let a stream of harsh sneezes into it.

“Christ, love. God _bless_ you again,” Gregory croaked out.

“Thank you. My apologies once again,” he said unnecessarily before blowing his nose carefully, not wanting to trigger another bout of sneezes. He then dry-swallowed the small pill and dabbed at his nose with the cloth, shoulders slumping. He detested spring and how his body’s immune system chose to respond.

“Hey, you ok?” Gregory asked gently as he moved closer to Mycroft. He squeezed his arm reassuringly. 

“Yes, thank you,” Mycroft said. “In hindsight, I should have started my antihistamine regimen sooner.” He didn’t mention his building anxieties.

“You were distracted,” Gregory said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“My dear, please do not think it is your fault. It is entirely my own,” Mycroft said with a sniff. He couldn’t believe that he had been so unfocused. He dabbed at his long nose again.

If to assuage his guilt, (or possibly to make himself feel better), Gregory enveloped Mycroft in a hug.

After they broke apart from their embrace, Gregory asked if there was anything he could do. Mycroft waved him away, and he sat down at the table.

Mycroft brought over the bread and then returned to the stove to check on the soup. Pleased that it had heated all the way through, he ladled it out into bowls and brought them over to the table. 

Gregory smiled his thanks and dipped a piece of bread into his soup, burning his tongue as he took a bite. Mycroft had to chuckle at his impatience and got back up to fetch them each a glass of water. 

As he sat back down, he glanced over at his partner. A far-away look was etched across Gregory’s features, and he quickly ducked his head down into the crook of his arm.

“Goodness. God _bless_ you, Gregory.” 

Sniffling thickly, Gregory grabbed his napkin and blew his nose.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, blushing slightly. Mycroft must think he was rather disgusting at this point, sniffling and sneezing everywhere. “And thank you,” he added, his voice thick with congestion.

Mycroft rubbed at his eyes again, the itching was beginning to be inconvenient, and it was just the beginning of the season. He sighed wearily and put his soup spoon down.

Gregory frowned. Despite the havoc of his own emotions, he couldn’t help but notice that Mycroft seemed not himself, even more so than before. Reaching over, he placed a hand over Mycroft’s and squeezed. 

Mycroft looked up into Gregory’s brown eyes, reading everything there. “Apologies, Gregory. The itchiness is rather draining,” he admitted, hoping that the seasonal irritation was enough to keep Gregory from picking up on his anxieties and unease.

Gregory squeezed his hand again. “I think we can both do with a good night’s sleep.”

“You are probably right,” Mycroft said, returning to his soup.

 

\---------  
An hour or so later, the pair were getting ready for bed. Mycroft had changed into pajamas and was contemplating reading for a while. He selected a tome and got into bed, the duvet pulled up to his thighs.

A few moments later, Gregory came into the room. He was very quiet and tension was radiating from every pore. He sank down onto the bed and put his head in his hands.

Mycroft marked his place and put the book to the side. Turning to Gregory, he put a hand on his shoulder.

Gregory stiffened under the touch, but then after a moment relaxed into Mycroft’s touch. He coughed into a loose fist, his body trembling from the effort to keep from breaking down.

“What happened, Gregory?” Mycroft asked gently.

Gregory sniffled. “Just adother message from my sister. I just cad’t deal with her ridt now.” He sighed, resigned. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so ill. His throat was sore, his body ached, and he constantly felt on the verge of a sneeze.

Mycroft frowned and began to rub soothing circles on his back. “I am sorry Gregory. I know she can be tiring, but there is little you can do. It is late so, please try not to trouble yourself over this. I believe the term is ‘shake it off’,” Mycroft quipped. Mycroft wasn’t one normally for humour, but he was hopeful that his attempt would be found favourable; he was running out of platitudes and was worried he would need to place another call to Doctor Watson for advice.

In spite of himself, Gregory laughed until he couldn’t keep from coughing any longer. Mycroft got up to fetch him a glass of water. Gregory was barely able to take a sip before his eyes fluttered shut in advance of a harsh sneeze, and he quickly cupped his hands around his nose and mouth.

“God _bless_ you!” 

Without removing his hands, Gregory could only nod before succumbing once again.

“God _bless_ you again, my dear,” Mycroft said, pressing a handkerchief into his hands.

Gregory pressed the handkerchief to his damp, still-flaring nostrils as he waited for the impending sneeze. His breathing stuttered and wavered and his head tipped back in anticipation. He was then thrown forward with the force of the final outburst that ripped at his already aching throat.

“Goodness! God _bless_ you!” Mycroft fretted. Gregory sounded simply awful and those sneezes sounded thick and heady. He wondered if Gregory was developing an infection, especially since he was sneezing far more than normal.

“Thag you,” Gregory croaked out hoarsely, blowing his nose. He was bone-weary and exhausted. He let out an involuntary shiver.

Mycroft got up and came around to Gregory’s side of the bed. He pulled the duvet down and helped Gregory get into bed and then pulled the duvet up and over him. Gregory shuddered again, sniffling wetly.

Biting his lower lip in worry, Mycroft went into the ensuite and retrieved the bottle of Night Nurse. He measured out a dose and handed the small cup to Gregory. “Drink this down and then you can sleep, my dear.”

Shattered, Gregory nodded and swallowed down the medicine, and then slid further under the duvet while Mycroft returned the bottle to the ensuite.

“ _Oh God_ ,” Gregory moaned out, barely a whisper. His sinuses ached and with every sneeze he could feel the pressure mounting.

“God _bless_ you, Gregory,” Mycroft said, slipping back into bed beside his lover.

“Thanks,” Gregory whispered. He snuffled into his handkerchief and then snuggled back toward Mycroft, seeking warmth. 

A few moments later, Gregory shuddered and sneezed explosively again, whimpering softly in the aftermath.

Mycroft sat up and reached over to where he had a stack of handkerchiefs on the nightstand. He pressed one into Gregory’s hands, knowing that the one he was using had to be useless after that very wet outburst.

“God bless,” Mycroft murmured into the darkness. His own nose was suffering a sympathetic twinge, and he rubbed at it, willing it to go away.

“Thags,” the ill man whispered. “I’b sorry,” he added. He felt utterly wretched and germy, and he worried that Mycroft would soon be ill and feeling equally miserable as he was.

“Do not _hhhh_ trouble _heh_ yourself,” Mycroft gasped out before stifling the irritated frenzy of sneezes.

“God bless you,” Gregory whispered into the dark. He made a move to turn to check on his partner, but Mycroft pulled him closely to him instead.

“Alright?” Gregory mumbled sleepily.

“Yes, thank you my dear. Apologies.” Mycroft sniffled weakly.

“Stop bloody apologizing,” Gregory grumbled teasingly. He shivered uncontrollably into Mycroft’s warm embrace.

Mycroft wondered if it was from the fever, exhaustion, or nerves. He began to card his fingers through Gregory’s soft silver hair, hoping to offer comfort. He felt woefully inadequate in supporting his partner through this tough time; he had certainly hoped he had done enough to show he did truly care. He was pleased when a few moments later, he heard Gregory snoring softly.

Mycroft smiled to himself, and placing his palm on Gregory’s bicep, joined him in slumber.


	10. Chapter 10

Gregory slept through the night. He didn’t exactly have pleasant dreams, considering the circumstances, but he slept. He wasn’t certain what woke him at first, but once he was able to blink the sleep from his eyes, he immediately knew.

Mycroft was sitting up in bed, handkerchief pressed to his twitching nose. His eyes looked heavy and teary; dark circles under them made them look sunken. Said eyes fluttered shut and he gave a hitching breath before launching into a prolonged fit of sneezes. It was clear it wasn’t the first fit of the morning.

Gregory cleared his throat. “G’bless,” he murmured. 

Mycroft waved a hand in his direction, and then buried his nose in the cloth again, the ticklish expulsions wracking his entire body.

Gregory sat up and ran a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. “Oh love. God _bless_ you! Give me a minute, alright?” He stood up and stretched and made his way to the ensuite.

Mycroft closed his swollen, puffy eyes and leaned against the headboard. How was it possible to feel this miserable? He was certain there were no windows open, but somehow the pollen was still invading his home and torturing his sinuses. He tried to sniff, but he was so terribly congested at this point, that it just made his nose prickle further and he gave it an angry swipe. He knew Gregory was still unwell, and he hated to be a burden to him even when he was healthy. Pinching his nostrils, he rubbed them between his thumb and index finger.

Gregory returned with a glass of water and a small blister packet of pills. “John gave me these a few weeks ago. They are supposed to be the strongest antihistamines you can get. Maybe they’ll help?” Gregory coughed, but it lacked the hacking quality that it had the day before. 

“Thag you, my dear,” Mycroft said. He rubbed at his tearing, itchy eyes before swallowing down one of the pills. He was glad he informed Anthea he would be working from home today. He had a feeling that this pill combined with the one he had already taken would knock him out for a few hours at the very least. The first few weeks were always the worst for him.

He looked his partner over. “How are you feeling, Gregory?”

Gregory sniffed experimentally. “Better, thanks. My throat doesn’t hurt anymore and I can almost breathe through _ahhh hehh_ my _hehhh_ nose . . .”

Gregory had quickly ducked his head down into his shoulder when the well-timed sneeze finally broke free.

“God _bless_ you!” Mycroft said. He plucked a few tissues free from the box next to him and offered them to his lover.

“Thanks,” Gregory said, giving his nose a thick blow.

“You on the other hand, look miserable, love.”

“It is a minor. . . “ Mycroft began.

“Don’t give me that ‘it’s a minor seasonal irritation’ bullshit,” Gregory interrupted with air quotes. “You look like you’ve been sneezing for hours.”

Mycroft blushed visibly and turned away.

“Oh Mycroft, you poor thing. Why didn’t you wake me, love? You know you don’t have to suffer through this alone.” Gregory reached over and rubbed Mycroft’s arm.

“You needed to _hehhhh ahhhh_ sleep,” Mycroft began before launching into another prolonged fit of increasingly wet sounding sneezes that he directed into his now well-used handkerchief.

“God bless you, God bless you, and God bless you _again_!” Gregory said, worriedly. Seeing the state of Mycroft’s handkerchief, he got up and fetched him a couple from the bureau. “Here, love. Here’s a clean one,” he said gently. He reached out and wiped a stray tear off Mycroft’s cheek. 

“Thag you, Gregory. Apologies,” he whispered before blowing his nose again.

“No apologising today. You’re not a burden or a bother and you can’t help feeling like this; it isn’t your fault, ok?” Gregory pulled Mycroft to him and held him tight.

Reluctantly, Mycroft nodded and relaxed into his lover’s embrace. He hated having to be so vulnerable, but knew Gregory loved him, and that made all the difference.

“Now, you’re going to sit here and rest, ok? I’ll go make us some tea.” Gregory kissed the top of Mycroft’s head.

“Are you sure you are well enough, my dear?” Mycroft asked, his voice was thick with congestion.

Gregory rolled his eyes. “I’m feeling much better and yes, I think I can handle making a pot of tea. Besides, taking care of you, it takes my mind off. . . “ he let his voice trail off as he gave Mycroft another kiss before standing up. 

Taking care of Mycroft would definitely keep him from thinking about the events of the week, which was a good thing right now. And he was feeling better, so there was no reason he couldn’t take care of Mycroft, who was clearly miserable; early spring being a difficult time for the younger man.

Mycroft nodded. “Thag you, Gregory,” he said dabbing at his now dripping nose. 

“I’ll be right back.” Gregory gave Mycroft a fond smile before heading downstairs.   
 


	11. Epilogue

A few weeks later, while at a particularly gruesome crime scene, Gregory’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. Thinking it was Mycroft replying to a message, he removed his mobile from his pocket to read it.

The text was not from Mycroft, but rather a Facebook notification from his sister. He didn’t really use the social media site; it did allow him to see pictures of his nieces. His sister had posted pictures of the headstones, now completed with the dates, and tagged him in the photos. Absolutely enraged at the inappropriateness of the post for all the world to see, Gregory let out a primal scream, and threw his mobile at a nearby wall, shattering it into pieces. Not speaking to anyone, he stormed off the crime scene, leaving a confused Donovan (not to mention the SOCO’s) in his wake.

Sherlock, who had been called in to help, had watched the entire situation unfold. He wasn’t entirely sure as to what had happened, but he had a good idea, given the information he had from Mycroft and John about Lestrade’s parents and the events of the past weeks. He walked over to a still puzzled looking Donovan and told her what he had learned about the victim. She was still so surprised by Lestrade’s actions, that she wrote down everything Sherlock said without making any of her usual snide remarks.

By the time Sherlock had recounted everything to Donovan, Lestrade was back, looking sheepish. He apologised, but didn’t give any explanation to the nature of his outburst.

For once, not wanting to add to the situation, Sherlock gave Lestrade the basics of the case, and then with a swirl of his Belstaff, left the crime scene. On his way back to Baker Street, he texted Mycroft to let him know that his Lestrade seemed to be having a particularly bad day and that his mobile was now laying, destroyed in pieces in the street.

 

\------------  
Mycroft happened to be home when he received the text from his illustrious brother. He was feeling miserable, what with the astronomically high pollen count that week. He couldn’t get through ten minutes without having a sneezing fit and he had decided that he was better off working from home.

In all honesty, he was feeling wretched. His eyes were close being swollen shut in the mornings; Gregory had taken to fetching him frozen washcloths that he placed over his eyes to help reduce the inflammation. Even with the extra ministrations and the tender touch of his lover, the purplish dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced than usual. His sinuses were so clogged, sensitive, and irritated that even the sinus massage that Gregory often utilised when Mycroft was feeling at his worst, left him even worse off; a sniffling, sneezing mess that took a long time to recover from. Unconsciously, Mycroft rubbed at his inflamed sinuses and sneezed, wincing in pain.

Mycroft had a dozen questions for Sherlock, but knew that his extent of brotherly concern was in that text. Instead of pressing his dear brother for details, he opened his laptop and pulled up the relevant CCTV footage. He was unable to see what Gregory had seen on his mobile, but knew whatever it was, it must have been extremely unpleasant to provoke that sort of reaction from his lover.

Sniffing damply, Mycroft reached for his handkerchief; his anxiety over his partner’s behaviour wasn’t deterring his unrelenting hay fever.

Sighing, he attempted to focus on a briefing that needed his notes; he could do nothing until Gregory came home. He rubbed at his swollen, sore eyes and began to read.

 

\------------  
Given that Sherlock had been so helpful at the crime scene, Lestrade had little to do besides paperwork. He was going to head back to NSY to complete it, when Donovan stopped him, her hand gentle on his arm.

“Is everything ok, Greg?” They had been on a first name basis for some time now, but they tended not to use them. She thought it might be less threatening if she approached him as a friend, and not as his sergeant. 

Lestrade looked down at the ground. “Just some family stuff. Sorry, I just have had it up to here with it, you know?” He sighed heavily.

“Look, there’s not much else to do besides paperwork. Why don’t you just take the rest of the afternoon off?”

Lestrade ran a hand thought his hair. “You’re probably right. Thanks Sal, for taking care of this, yeah?”

“Don’t mention it. See you tomorrow,” she said, walking over to the squad car.

Gregory sighed heavily and trudged over to his car. He suddenly felt very tired, like the weight of the world was upon his shoulders.

 

\---------------  
Gregory found Mycroft in the midst of what appeared to be a prolonged, drawn out sneezing fit when he arrived home. Mycroft was curled in on himself, sitting in his study, his body wracked and trembling with the stifled expulsions.

Gregory winced at the painful sounding stifles. He put a hand on Mycroft’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “God _bless_ you. Love, please stop holding them back like that; you’re going to end up with an infection or something!”

Mycroft looked up from the depths of his handkerchief, eyes damp and red-rimmed. He opened his mouth to retort, but instead his breath hitched and he plunged behind his damp handkerchief once again.

“God _bless_ you again, and _again_ ,” Gregory said, frowning. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. “Here, love,” he offered. 

Mycroft nodded and accepted the fresh cloth. “Thag you. Apologies,” he muttered through thick congestion. He felt like he was drowning in his own bodily fluids. After taking a few minutes to blow his nose carefully, he studied his lover.

“What happened Gregory?” Mycroft asked him finally. He was worried about his partner; he looked drained. Mycroft rubbed at his pink-tinged nostrils with the handkerchief, tired of the continuous, prickling tickle.

Gregory sank back onto the sofa and sighed heavily. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She posted pictures of the headstones on Facebook with the final dates and tagged me in them. Who does that?” Exasperated, he ran a hand through his silver hair, frustrated. 

Mycroft reached over and squeezed Gregory’s hand. “That does seem rather morbid, I must say. You shouldn’t let her get to you, my _ahhh hehh_ dear, oh do excuse _heh_ me,” he managed to get out.

“God _bless_ you,” Gregory said as he wrapped his arms around Mycroft and pulled him close to him. 

“Gregory, _ahhhh hehhh_ , please,” Mycroft breathed out, as he tried to pull away before succumbing to another vicious flurry of sneezes, nose buried in his handkerchief. 

Gregory embraced him through the ticklish expulsions. “God _bless_ you again and _again_ , love. I hate to see you like this,” he said, kissing him on the top of his head. “I wish I could do something, or share the burden- anything.” 

__“Thank you, Gregory. Again, my apologies. And my dear, I would not wish this upon anyone,” Mycroft added with a sniffle. “Enough about me, my dear. I have taken the liberty of ordering you a new mobile. It should be here shortly.”_ _

__“How did you . . .” Gregory began. “Oh. Sherlock,” he realised._ _

__“My brother was concerned, as much as he can show it, my dear,” Mycroft said. “Are you alright now?” He looked up at Gregory through damp lashes._ _

__“Yeah, I’ve calmed down. I just saw red when I got that notification.” Gregory ran a hand across his face with a sigh._ _

__Mycroft sat up so he could study his lover more carefully. Gregory smiled down at him and kissed him on the forehead._ _

__Mycroft reached up and cupped Gregory’s cheek. The past few weeks had taken so much out of his dear partner. “And overall, how are you feeling?” Mycroft hesitated to ask, to bring up such an obviously sensitive topic again, but Gregory had closed a bit of himself off after his father’s death. Mycroft was unsure how to approach it at the time, and merely focused on nursing Gregory back to physical health as he recovered from a rather nasty cold._ _

__Gregory thought for a moment. He had tried not to dwell on what had happened; there was nothing he could do about it now. He missed his father of course, but it was one of those things that had been inevitable for a long time. As he gathered his thoughts, he was aware of an unwelcome sensation in his sinuses. He wasn’t as immune to the allergens as he used to be. Clapping a hand across his nose and mouth, he turned away from Mycroft._ _

__“My goodness. God _bless_ you!” _ _

__Gregory sniffed in the aftermath of the ferocious sneeze. “Thanks. Sorry. Not sure where that came from,” he said with a chuckle._ _

__“Hmmm,” Mycroft murmured. “The pollen count is at record levels, Gregory. I am surprised at people who are _not_ affected.”_ _

__Gregory returned to his train of thought before he was waylaid by the sneeze. “You asked how I was feeling about everything,” he said._ _

__Mycroft nodded. “If you would rather not discuss it, we do not have to.”_ _

__“It’s ok. Some days are better than others, and it’s different from when my mum died; different things make me think of him. I just wish I had time to go back and do things differently.” Gregory gave a weak smile._ _

__Mycroft sniffed again and rubbed at his throbbing sinuses. “I understand Gregory. And as I have said before, we are always going to want just a little bit longer.”_ _

__Gregory nodded, working to keep his emotions in tact._ _

__Mycroft could see that Gregory was getting emotional. “What I can say for certain is that I am sure your father would be very proud of the man you have become, my dearest heart.”_ _

__Biting his lip, Gregory nodded again. “Thanks, love,” he said softly, willing his voice not to break._ _

__“It is all true, Gregory. Do not think for a moment that I do not believe it as well.” Mycroft reached over and squeezed his hand. “I love you Gregory Lestrade.”_ _

__“And I love you, Mycroft Holmes. Thank you, for what you said. It means a lot to me.”_ _

__Mycroft nodded. And then he leaned in and kissed Gregory tenderly, hoping that all that was left unsaid was put forth in his kiss._ _


End file.
